


Let's Hear It for the Boy

by DapperJuniper



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1980s, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mixtape, Mutual Pining, chapter 2 is them post canon and happy, theyre young and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperJuniper/pseuds/DapperJuniper
Summary: “Oh, before I forget- keep this one.”He pulled a tape from his bag that he hadn’t played yet, and Eddie took it with a look of distrust on his face. It had his name scrawled across the label in Richie’s awful handwriting-  looked more like it said Edota on it- but the thing that caught his attention was the very obviously scribbled out heart in front of his name.“Welp,” He snapped his gum again. “I gotta go. See you later, babe. If you miss me when I’m gone, just listen to the tape. Plenty of gushy shit on there.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything since March and I'm too tired to proofread this right now so yeehaw let's go boys!!

“So this one’s all your gay shit,” Richie picked up one of the cassettes that he’d dumped out of his bag onto Eddie’s bed. They were sitting in his room, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. It’d been a fucking miracle that Sonia Kaspbrak had allowed Eddie to have Richie over- as awful as she was, she’d agreed to let him come over for a few hours since Eddie had finished his homework for the weekend.

“It’s not gay, asshole.” Richie raised both of his eyebrows at Eddie. 

“No? Madonna, Taylor Dayne, Culture Club, _ ABBA _-”

“It’s just pop music.”

“Sure,” Richie rolled his eyes and grabbed at another tape. “This one’s what I play when I’m making sweet love to your mom on Tuesday nights.”

“I fucking hate you,” Eddie shoved Richie’s shoulder and tried to grab the cassette from his hand. “For real, what is it?”

“Just sappy love songs. I was in a mood.” He pushed his glasses up onto his face a little higher, even though they weren’t falling in the first place. Just a nervous tick Eddie had picked up on over the years, so he didn’t ask any more questions about it. He figured it was about some girl that had turned him down.

Richie kept sifting through the tapes, grabbing Eddie’s boombox from underneath his nightstand and popping one in. 

“This one’s a real jam!” Some rock song started blasting, and Richie stood up on the bed with another cassette in his hand as a fake mic. Eddie was laughing too hard to think about how his mother would react. He climbed up next to Richie and started jumping around, feeling his heart swell at the way Richie sang into his closed fist, acting as though he were on stage in front of a million fans.

Eddie knew that he looked at Richie like he was worth three million- all the stars in the sky wouldn’t add up to how important Richie was to him.

They only stopped when they heard Sonia start stomping up the stairs. 

“Shit,” Eddie muttered, grabbing Richie’s arm to pull him down. They both dropped onto Eddie’s bed, Richie quickly turning the music down so that they wouldn’t get in too much trouble. She turned the corner and glared into the open door. _ Don’t you know that you’ll go deaf from that? You’ll lose your hearing. And to devil music! _

Richie mumbled a quick _ Sorry Mrs. K _ under his breath and stared down at the white carpeted floor of Eddie’s bedroom. Eddie wrung his hands together and promised his mother that he wouldn’t turn it up that loud again, and that it was just an accident, that he didn’t mean to put that cassette in in the first place. She shook her head and walked off back to the living room, threatening to send Richie home early if they disrupted her soaps again.

They sat quietly for a few moments before Richie started snorting. Eddie turned and glared at him. Nothing was funny about his mother being pissed off. She was a force to be reckoned with.

“What?” He reached across the short distance between them and smacked Richie’s arm. 

“_ Devil music, _” He made air quotes and stuck his nose up like some sort of snob before snorting again. “Sorry, what year is it? 1958?” 

Eddie laughed too. It was pretty ridiculous. His mother even dressed like it was still the 50s; he assumed she was subconsciously trying to go back to when his dad was alive, but it still came off really weird. Besides, Eddie knew that Richie listened to _ way _worse music. The mixtape he’d popped in was pretty tame- he wondered what his mom would’ve said if it was Metallica playing.

  
“She still thinks it is,” Eddie rolled his eyes and tried to laugh the whole thing off, but he noticed how close Richie was to him and how he was still gripping onto his arm. He dropped his hand and muttered a _ Sorry _, to which Richie merely shrugged and went back to sifting through mixtapes.

* * *

It was a couple hours later that Richie finally decided to pack up. They’d put in the tape Richie had so kindly dubbed the “Gay Shit”, and danced around. Eddie didn’t mention that Richie seemed to know the lyrics to more of the songs than he did.

“You sure you have to go?” Richie was gnawing on his bottom lip. He pressed his eyebrows together and looked up at Eddie from his place on Eddie’s bedroom floor. A single lock of curled black hair hung down between his eyes, and Eddie so desperately wanted to push it back out of his face. He didn’t.

“Really Eds? Your mom’ll have my ass, and not in the fun way.” He popped a piece of gum into his mouth that he’d fished out of his pocket- _ disgusting _\- and blew a bubble loudly. “Oh, before I forget- keep this one.”

He pulled a tape from his bag that he hadn’t played yet, and Eddie took it with a look of distrust on his face. It had his name scrawled across the label in Richie’s awful handwriting- looked more like it said _ Edota _ on it- but the thing that caught his attention was the very obviously scribbled out heart in front of his name.

“What is it?” 

“Just some shit I think you’d like. Don’t think too hard about it, you’ll give yourself a headache,” The last part he said in one of the Voices that he generally used to mock Eddie’s mother. Eddie kicked out at him with a smirk on his face as Richie stood up, bag zipped and flung across his back.

“Welp,” He snapped his gum again. “I gotta go. See you later, babe. If you miss me when I’m gone, just listen to the tape. Plenty of gushy shit on there.” 

And then he was out the door and down the stairs. Eddie heard Richie say goodbye to his mother before the front door slammed shut. He looked back down to the tape in his hands and held it a little tighter. He felt his heart do the same thing.

He got up and set the tape on his desk. He didn’t think he could listen to it at the moment, with all the weird flippy-flopping that his chest was doing. He felt sick. He probably was sick. How much easier would life be if he just ignored the feelings and found a nice girlfriend like his mother wanted? He could pretend to be happy with her, pretend that everything was great, and not have to deal with this… this guilt. That’s what it was, plain and simple. And if his mother was upset with him listening to some rock music, he couldn't even begin to imagine how coming out to her would go down.

_ Mommy, I know that the pope would hang me by my balls, but I like boys and I don’t want to marry a girl, or have kids, or live a perfect sinless life. No amount of praying is going to save me mommy. I know I’ll go to Hell, but if I’m in Hell at least Satan will love me while he’s burning my flesh from my bones. _

No, that wouldn’t happen. He’d rather take it to the grave than tell Sonia Kaspbrak that her beautiful, breakable, little boy wanted to be absolutely manhandled by another boy. Besides, she’d just blame someone else. 

He set the tape down and tried to focus on something else. He read for about an hour, then tried to work ahead on a project for school that wasn’t due for another month. But every time, he found his thoughts being brought back to the tape. Finally, Eddie sighed and grabbed the tape before shoving it into his walkman and falling backwards onto his bed.

The first song was Like a Virgin. Of course he’d put that on. Part of Eddie wanted to be offended, but he honestly did like the song. He closed his eyes and let the music play.

There were two more songs that Eddie had heard and liked- then a couple more vague ones. A gushy romantic one… then another… and another-

_ What the fuck? _ Eddie opened his eyes. His ears weren’t deceiving him. There’d been three gushy love songs in a row, and the fourth one was starting up. He thought briefly that maybe Richie had recorded over an old tape and forgotten to erase the last few songs, but then he thought better of himself. Richie had teased him a bit before leaving. Maybe this was just… more teasing. He let out an annoyed groan. He knew it was just how Richie was, but it was still irritating, not knowing if he was kidding or being serious. With the amount of jokes Richie made about sleeping with girls, Eddie had half a mind to wonder if he was in the closet too- but then he reminded himself that no, Richie had dated girls, and he wasn’t some sort of freak like Eddie, so of course he wasn’t flirting-

The music stopped, and Eddie grabbed for the rewind button when he heard some static. There was a cough, and then he heard Richie.

“So uh, I know this is probably stupid, but I didn’t know when to show you without looking like some kind of idiot because I keep fucking it up,” There was a cough and a bit of shuffling. Eddie felt his face heat up. “And before you say anything, I know it’s a cheesy and overused song. It’s just the only thing I can get my stupid sausage fingers to play right now.”

_ Oh. _

It felt like Eddie’s heart was going to burst. 

_ The guitar. Of course. _

“So yeah. Just. I mean, I just trust you not to talk shit, okay? So if I fuck up don’t tell anyone. Not cool, spaghetti boy.” He cleared his throat and the music started playing.

It was more intimate that Eddie would have thought. The sound of Richie playing a song on his guitar- a song for _ him _\- made him feel like he was on another plane of existence. He didn’t worry about what his mother would think, what the people in Derry would think, hell, he didn’t worry about what God would think- all he could think was Richie, Richie’s fingers getting calluses and hurting for days and days just so he could play this one song, and how he’d thought to record it for only Eddie to hear.

He felt like he was flying.

And when Richie’s breath hitched for just a second as he took a breath to start singing, Eddie saw stars. 

“Wise men say- _ fuck _-,” Richie’s finger brushed against the wrong string and made a buzzing noise. Eddie snorted and rolled onto his side. “Only fools rush in-”

He was right. It _ was _ cheesy- playing an Elvis song? Cheesy. Overused. Ridiculous. But it was romantic. It was beautiful. And Richie’s voice wasn’t perfect, but that made it feel all the more real. Eddie closed his eyes and imagined that Richie was in the room with him, playing the song right next to him on the other side of his bed. No- _ their bed _ . They had an apartment, and a small dog named Acorn or something just as stupid. They shared a dresser and went out for breakfast every Saturday morning. Eddie woke up early on weekdays for work and Richie slept in- he worked weird hours, doing skits at the improv club in their new town and DJing late at night for a local radio station. Bill, Stan, Mike, Ben, and Beverly still talked to them, and nobody thought they were weird for being- for being in _ love _.

He opened his eyes as the song ended with Richie muttering something about how it was stupid and he should record another Queen song over it before giving it to Eddie. Then silence cut again, and nothing else started. He rewound just a little bit and rolled back onto his back, closing his eyes and letting Richie’s voice fill his ears- and his heart.

Eddie would never admit it, but he listened to that song on repeat for three and a half weeks straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while writing chapter 2 I actually made the mixtape: [spotify link](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4zt447PMls675LgMttqVCY?si=oMdU_JSSTQ-N8vjCRTu-6A). Just in case you want to listen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I fully didn't intend on writing another chapter but then y'all's comments made me think about it and then I started thinking A Lot and I started writing thinking it'd be like just a short addition, but I just love adult reddie so much so uh. Here's almost 4k extra words of them being in love.

It’d been a couple months since they finally killed It.

Richie wasn’t sure how, with how fast everything had happened- the fight, the aftermath, the weeks following- but somehow, Eddie has survived. Everything was an absolute clusterfuck and Richie was higher on adrenaline than he’d ever been on any drug. He remembered sitting in the hospital with Bev waiting for Eddie to come out of surgery, remembered holding his hand when he woke up, remembered the kiss Eddie gave him when he was still high off the anaesthetic, remembered the discussion after Eddie came down from the high the next day, remembered how Eddie started coughing hard when he told Myra he wasn’t coming home.

They’d gone to New York together and packed up Eddie’s remaining belongings into boxes. Myra had already left, crying that she needed to spend time with her sister. Richie snorted when Eddie said he was glad that he wouldn’t have to see her. They spent the night quietly packing up his things, Eddie spending most of his time sitting on the floor trying not to bust any of his stitches. By the end of the night, they’d barely filled up the U-Haul that they’d rented, and Eddie left one last thing on the counter for Myra when she returned- the divorce papers. 

Richie had driven the truck all the way back to Chicago, promising Eddie that he’d clean up his place as soon as he could, and that it _ was _ still a bachelor pad, so of course it was messy, and how was he supposed to know he’d be bringing him home? Eddie spent half the trip asleep in the passenger seat, and they lived off of cheap gas station food and cold coffee.

It all happened so fast that Richie felt like he had whiplash. Yet here it was, mid August, when Eddie was finally unpacking the last of his boxes that had piled up around the apartment. He’d been anxious as hell about unpacking everything and decluttering, but Richie had waved him off. Besides, Eddie had barely been able to stand for the first month, and at this point he could finally stand for longer than a couple minutes without leaning against something. He really didn’t mind the mess if it meant that Eddie could get better. 

He was sitting at the desk in his small second bedroom when Eddie came in. Well, he didn’t really come in. Richie heard the floor creak by the door, and saw him from the corner of his eye, but Eddie didn’t come any closer. He finished typing up the last of the email to his manager before looking over to see what Eddie was doing. 

Eddie was absolutely _ beaming _. He was just standing in the doorway, smiling at Richie like a little kid waiting to show their parents their straight A report card. Richie raised an eyebrow at him and shoveled a bite of leftover pizza into his mouth before saying anything.

“What’s that look for?” Eddie was too happy to even make his usual comment about how Richie shouldn’t speak with his mouth full.

“Look what I found,” he said, holding up a box in his hands. Richie pushed back from the desk and walked over. It was just a shoebox; a pretty big shoebox, but still just a normal shoebox.

“Found a pair of lost shoes?” Richie kissed him on the cheek and Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a keepsake box, dipshit.”

“Are we seventy, grandma?” 

“Shut up. Unlike some people, I don’t like to put stupid looking shit on shelves just so I have to tell my life story to guests,” He pulled back from Richie, backtracking into the living room. “I just thought maybe you’d want to look through it with me. I mean, since you made that comment about ‘missing out’ or whatever.”

Richie felt like a cartoon character caught in the perfume trail of a hot girl as he followed Eddie over onto the couch. _ Their _ couch. He could basically feel the hearts in his eyes, which normally would have embarrassed him, but they were together now, and nobody else was around. 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that the stick on the third bookshelf has a _ very _interesting backstory, thank you,” He draped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and settled back into the couch before putting on one of his Voices. “It was around 1996, on a spring break trip to Calgary-”

Eddie shoved his hand into Richie’s chest, shutting him up. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to shove this thing into the back of the closet and not touch it for the next twenty years.”

“Sounds like my life-” Richie started, but stopped when Eddie leaned forward and set the box gently onto the wooden coffee table that Richie put his ‘dirty fucking feet’ on all the time. Eddie pulled back the cardboard lid of the box, revealing an almost overflowing stack of papers, pictures, knick knacks, and loads of other things. 

They sat there for hours. Eddie pulled out all sorts of things- tickets from a vacation he once took all on his own to Europe under the guise of work, but in reality he was just getting away from Myra; the prayer card from his mother’s funeral; tickets to an improv show he’d seen at Second City (“You know, I could’ve been working that night. We could’ve fallen in love 15 years ago, Eds.”); a picture of him and his friends in college, and the like.

Richie wanted to frame the college picture, with Eddie crouched down in the front row of about ten other people. 

“It was from some club I was in,” He’d said, chewing on the inside of his lip. “I had a huge crush on that guy-” he pointed to a tall man behind him, dark curly hair and glasses looking _ oddly _ familiar. “-but I was so oblivious I didn’t even get it when he kissed me.”

“Eds, you’re really out here slutting it up, huh? A kiss? Before marriage? Isn’t that a sin?” 

He’d gotten a punch in the ribs for that one.

They dug through more papers, a handful of shells, a small bracelet, postcards, essays- before they reached the bottom of the box.

Eddie’s hand stopped moving and the smile fell from his face. 

“Somethin’ wrong?” Richie reached over to Eddie to run his fingers through his hair, to brush his hand against his cheek, something, anything to make that beautiful smile come back. Eddie just stared.

“Holy shit,” he finally said. Slowly, carefully, Eddie pulled out a small black rectangle. There was a single piece of white tape stretched across it, faded to yellow from the years. And Richie felt like he was falling in love all over again when he saw his own handwriting across it.

* * *

  
  


“Welp, I gotta go. See you later, babe. If you miss me when I’m gone, just listen to the tape. Plenty of gushy shit on there.” He waved, ran down the stairs, and shouted out a goodbye to Eddie’s mom before slamming the door behind him and taking off. There was no way in hell Richie wanted to be around when Eddie listened to the tape. He’d almost scrapped the whole thing- he’d wanted to keep it hidden at the bottom of one of his desk drawers where nobody would ever find it, just in case they even thought that maybe he wasn’t-

He stopped thinking about it. It would be fine. It wasn’t like he’d spent hours trying to get a perfect rendition of the world’s most used love song to come out perfect on his guitar, with his voice, to give to his best friend. It wasn’t like he was in love or anything.

Richie wanted to vomit.

He was terrified to see Eddie again. He spent the weekend in a vague state of panic, knowing he’d have to ask about it on their usual Monday walk to school. How do you ask about that though? And what if Eddie didn’t want to be his friend anymore? Richie couldn’t imagine life without Eddie in it. What if Eddie thought he was gross? What if he got the tape and just crushed it? Would he tell Bowers? Would he tell them the disgusting things Richie did? Would he tell them that they were right to beat him, to call him slurs, to break his glasses and pull a knife on him and- would Eddie join in the next time?

He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes, willing the images of Eddie standing over him calling him a disgusting queer out of his head. Tears started to prick in the corners of his eyes, but he just wiped them away before dropping his head onto his desk. He couldn’t imagine Eddie doing that. He wouldn’t, right?

Monday finally rolled around, and Richie was outside Eddie’s house at the usual time. He felt his face turning red, but tried not to acknowledge it. And as usual, Eddie came running out of his house, waving back to his mom with a short _ Bye mama! See you later! _, hitting Richie in the arm with the little brown paper bag lunch in his hand.

“Hey spaghetti, what’s for lunch today?”

“Do you have to ask that every fucking day? It’s always the same thing.” Ham and cheese on whole grain wheat bread, a small bag of strawberries and grapes, and a healthy serving of mid-day vitamins. 

“Wanna share my brownie later?” Richie watched as Eddie struggled to pull his backpack around and shove the lunch bag into it while they kept up the same pace. He gave Richie one of his scrunched up looks.

“Is there anything weird in it?” 

“My mom made them, so no, not unless she suddenly decided she wanted some ganja.”

“No nuts?”

“I mean, I can nut in it if you want-”

“Fuck off.”

Richie stuck his tongue out at Eddie and laughed at the disgusted look he got back. They knew Eddie’s ‘nut allergy’ wasn’t real at this point, but Eddie still insisted that eating a lot of them after never having any might actually trigger an allergic reaction. He still didn’t seem to understand the concept of psychosomatic symptoms.

They walked together in silence after that, Richie unable to figure out how to phrase his question. _ Hey Eddie, did you listen to my gay love song? How did you like it? Would you be okay if I told you you’re my wet dream? Wanna hold hands and maybe fuck? _

Eddie coughed a little, and Richie realized he’d been staring at Eddie. How long had he been staring? Was he obvious? He stared at Eddie a lot more than he’d like to admit, but was this time too much?

“So uh…” He coughed a bit to clear his throat, pushing up his glasses. “About the end of the tape-”

“Yeah?” Eddie cut him off, but bit his lip and looked down at the ground immediately after. The air felt thick.

“I mean, I just wanted to know if like, you know, if I,” He trailed off, looking at the way Eddie’s teeth gnawed on his bottom lip. “If I got any better. I mean, I’m still working on getting calluses, so it’s a bit difficult to play anything too hard, y’know? It just hurts a bit so I thought something simple, and that’s a really easy song, so-”

“It sounded good, Rich.” 

And that was it. _ It sounded good, Rich _. Right after Eddie said those words, they’d gotten to the corner where they always met up with Stan and Bev and Bill, where they’d all walk together until they got to school and met up with Mike and Ben.

The tape never came up again.

* * *

  
  


“Y-you kept that thing?” Richie grabbed at Eddie’s hands, but Eddie pulled the tape against his chest. He clung to it like he was still a kid.

“Do you have a tape player?” Richie stared blankly at Eddie. _ He’d kept the tape. He hadn’t hated him. He’d put it in the little box that he put all his special things in- it had been special to him. _

_ Richie poured his heart into a tape and it had been precious to Eddie. _

“I. Yeah, I think I’ve still got my. My boombox somewhere,” He stood up so quickly he thought he’d get dizzy, then darted off into his office. He found the boombox in the spare closet- it was the size of a small duffel bag, heavy as hell, and coated in dust. He brushed his sleeve across the top, then carried it, thick cord and all, into the living room.

  
Eddie had moved from his place on the couch to the floor, leaning back against it and staring down at the tape in his hands. He was gently running his thumb over the piece of masking tape when Richie set the boombox on the coffee table, hand shaking as he tried to plug it into the outlet.

“I don’t even know if it’ll play,” Eddie said, sounding small. He looked up at Richie with his round, brown eyes, and Richie thought he was going to melt on the spot. They were the same eyes he’d thought about while sitting on his bed, hands shaking as he hit record after the DJ announced the next song. They were the same eyes he was dreaming about when he accidentally drew a heart next to Eddie’s name, swearing and searching through the mess of his desk for a sharpie to hide it. They were the same eyes he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, crows feet the only sign of the passage of time.

Eddie handed the tape over to Richie, and he fumbled around before popping it in, not remembering all of what was on the tape. If he were being honest, it was all just filler for the last bit. He hit play.

And then they both started laughing when Madonna’s _ Like a Virgin _ started playing.

“Did I _ really do this _?” Richie felt tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. Eddie was laughing just as hard, gripping at his middle. He started coughing, and Richie was bending down and putting his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie swatted him away, shaking his head.

“Just turn- turn it up,” He let out another cough as Richie cranked the volume, then put his hand out for Richie to grab. He pulled Eddie up to his feet, and felt his heart swell when Eddie just leaned against him. “I didn’t think it would play.”

“Why not? You listened to it too much?”

“... Yeah.”

“That’s romantic, Eds.”

“You’re the one that made it.”

Richie nodded, then realized that they were both swaying a bit. It was nice. If he was being honest, it was all he’d ever wanted. Just to be able to hold Eddie in his arms.

Eddie let out another cough, swearing under his breath about the literal hole in his lungs. Richie smiled, burying his face into Eddie’s hair and planting a kiss there. Eddie let out a small sound of contentment, squeezed his arms around Richie, then pulled back. 

“Remember when we used to have little concerts in my room?” His hands were pressed against Richie’s chest. Richie nodded.

“Yeah, I thought I was hot shit.”

“You still think you’re hot shit.”

“Uh, but I actually am now,” Eddie shook his head and pushed Richie’s arms away from him. Despite Richie’s whines of protest, he took a few steps back and picked up the remote from the little console table under the wall mounted flat screen. He turned back to Richie with his eyebrows raised.

“Then sing for me.” He tossed the remote to Richie, who barely caught it and most definitely didn’t almost fall face first into the coffee table. Richie looked back up at Eddie, stitches in his cheek, a hole in his chest, and a smile on his face.

And he started singing.

He felt like he _ was _back in Eddie’s bedroom- the white plush carpet; the small twin sized bed pushed up against the wall, covered in that bright red comforter with the colorful stripes that his mother hated so much; the little nightstand the only thing keeping the bed from being in the corner; Eddie’s old toy chest that sat under his bedroom window and acted as a window seat as they got older; his desk across from the bed, neatly organized with small stacks of his school books; the ugly rocket-shaped lamp that he kept next to his bed; the closet doors that ran on a track, that Richie remembered got stuck on the left side- he remembered the entire thing like it was just yesterday that he was in Eddie’s room lip syncing to this very tape; but this time Richie actually sang.

“Maybe he’s no Romeo, but he’s my lovin’ one man show-” Eddie was smiling, starting to sway to the music. “Let’s hear it for my man-”

Before he knew it, they were both dancing around like they were kids again. Richie stood up on his couch and Eddie didn’t even complain about him getting his dirty feet on the furniture when Richie decided he could- and would- climb on top of the counter and dance on it like a stage. Eddie was jumping on the couch without a care in the world, only wincing slightly when he went a little too hard with flinging his arms around.

They were a laughing mess through the first half of the tape. Madonna, Deniece Williams, Whitney Houston, Rick Springfield, Queen, The Cure- By the time the music started to wind down, they were both absolutely out of breath. Richie found himself cradling Eddie against his chest again when The Police came on. He’d stopped singing halfway through his quite artistic rendition of _ Somebody to Love _, and Eddie hadn’t complained. They were both tired from the impromptu dance party. Richie felt like Eddie had an excuse, recovering from a life threatening stab wound and all, but it just made him feel old. He sighed and let his hands bunch up in the fabric on the back of Eddie’s sweatshirt, then closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of Eddie’s head. As the song came to a close, he felt Eddie smile against his neck.

“I love this one,” He muttered, as the static between songs lasted longer than it should have.

“The static? You sure you weren’t the one looking into the lights, Eds? Do I need to admit you to a mental-” Richie was cut off with the sound of himself speaking, high and just barely pubescent.

“Oh my god,” He pulled his hands up and covered his face, but Eddie reached and pulled them away, still smiling. 

“What?” Eddie pushed Richie’s glasses back up on his nose. “It’s sweet, Rich.”

“Sweet? I think I just said fuck for the fifth time-”

“It’s... very you.”

“Thanks, Eds, glad you think of me when you hear someone say fuck.”

“Anytime.”

They were quiet again for the moment, just swaying to the music. Eddie quietly mouthed the words along to the horrible cover of the song, and Richie saw the absolute adoration in his eyes- how had he not noticed that look when they were kids? There was nothing short of love, love, love, and Richie wanted to just stay there forever. He pressed his forehead against Eddie’s, and they both closed their eyes.

“I didn’t even remember what other songs were on here, to be honest.”

“Yeah?” Eddie nodded.

“This part’s really crackly. It’s all I listened to.” His breath hitched.

“That’s gay, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie’s hand slid up to Eddie’s cheek.

“Yeah.” There was another moment of silence until Richie broke it.

“So like, did you… did you like it? When I gave it to you?” He felt Eddie pull back a little, and he looked back at him. Eddie’s face was a mix between _ Are you joking? _ and _ Is he that stupid? _ which honestly answered Richie’s question on the spot. “I just mean. Like, when I asked back then, you just said it was good. And I mean, I get it, but also I thought you hated me and I was really scared that you were going to stop talking to me and maybe also start talking to Bowers-”

“_ What? _”

“Yeah, I know, stupid, but for real, I thought you’d hate me-”

“Rich, in what fucking timeline could I ever hate you?” 

He looked offended. Less offended in a _ Fuck you _ kind of way, and more in a _ I’m hurt that you hurt _ way. Richie knew the look. He knew that’s what Eddie was saying with it. 

“I don’t know-”

“Richie, I sat in my room crying over you for months. Do you know what I did when you moved away? I didn’t fucking go anywhere for days. I didn’t even go to school. I was literally bedridden. My mother thought I’d contracted fucking Ebola because none of the cold meds were doing anything,” He took a deep breath. “I sat in bed with my walkman listening to this so many times fucking wondering if you knew I was gay and just making fun of me, or if you were serious and actually felt the same way. I cried in that stupid tiny bed over the future I knew we’d never have, and the bed we’d never share, and the dog we’d never have, and the fucking life I knew I was throwing away, and how I’d probably go to hell-”

“Wait, wait,” Richie put his finger up to Eddie’s mouth, shushing him before he threw himself into a full blown breakdown. “A dog?”

“Wh- yeah?”

“We. We can get a dog if you want. What did. What did you want to name it?”

“I-I didn’t think that far ahead, Richie.”

“C’mon, Eds,” Richie gave him one of his overdramatic and obviously fake upset faces. “Are you telling me you were head over heels in love with me but you didn’t pick out a name for our dog?”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Eddie shoved his hands against Richie’s chest, a smile still on his lips. “... Acorn.”

“_ Acorn _-”

“I knew you’d laugh at me!” He spun around, started to walk toward their now shared bedroom.

“I swear on my mother’s grave, I’m not laughing!”

He was laughing. He laughed all the way to the bedroom, laughed when Eddie fell back onto the bed, laughed when they started kissing, when the clothes started to come off, when they stayed up all night with each other, only to fall asleep in the other's arms. He laughed because he was finally happy- no- _ they _were finally happy.

And they were definitely going to the shelter to look at dogs.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on my tumblr [@gaycultists](https://gaycultists.tumblr.com)


End file.
